Jonquils Wrapped in Ivy
The gardens of the palace were so
…
brown.
The recent heat wave had led every last bush and plant in the Red Keep to a fast demise. Little bits of green peeked through some shrubbery, yet it wasn’t enough to look past the exhaustion of every living thing surrounding it. The past week had brought with it a heat so extreme that some commoners had apparently perished from it, just like the once-prized flower gardens in the Red Keep’s main courtyard. That fact didn’t hurt as much as it should. After all, some things were worse than death. Yet everything died just the same. Except for the roses. They didn’t seem to mind the harsh environment and were in full bloom, growing more beautiful each day with death as their fertiliser. They looked as if they had been picked out of a folk tale from one of the books back home.
…back home…
an ache echoed in Sansa’s chest. The roses were so lush and rich in colour - with an aroma that painted a picture of another time; a more romantic time. Planted so close to the ocean, Sansa found the rose division of the gardens was the perfect place to wander and get lost in ones thoughts. Not that her thoughts were a nice place to be most of the time. Which was why most of her time alone was spent in prayer. To the Crone for guidance and the Warrior for courage. To the Smith for strength and the Stranger for understanding. Sansa didn’t feel comfortable praying to the Father Above, so she prayed to her own father instead. Praying had always brought her comfort in times of sadness, but after so much cruelty…a line had been crossed that Sansa had not known to exist. Praying seemed like a burdensome habit now, that brought with it only the smallest amount of misplaced solace. It was like shouting into a cave; her echoes the only ray of hope in the darkness. But echoes are just replicas of oneself, warped and false and weak attempts at mirroring the truth. That’s all prayer was to her now; an echo.
Having not paid much attention to where her feet were taking her, Sansa realised she was meandering the footpath to her favourite fountain. The centrepiece of the small courtyard fountain was of a handsome marble knight, sword by his side, surrounded by marble flowers. Water fell from a jug in his right hand into the basin below, where it would then continue its journey back into the jug over and over again, an eternal tribute for whatever or whoever the knight had fought for. It was one of the only places in all of the Red Keep where she could truly feel alone. The constant bodyguards the Lannister’s had ‘protecting’ her seemed to only leave her alone in the gardens. They were always waiting at the exits and entrances anyway, and the only true escape was over a massive wall into the deep and unforgiving ocean below. No, Sansa would not be escaping anywhere whilst in the gardens, so the Lannister’s and their armoured pets must feel at ease letting her naive mind and weak body stroll ‘freely’ through the glorified cage. Sansa could hear the calm whooshing of water which heralded the small alcove where her knight would be waiting. Turning the sharp, labyrinthian corner into the small nook, Sansa froze on the spot.
There was the fountain, surrounded by bushes that were now dead from the heat. There was her knight, gaze turned upward as he toasted no-one. And there, lounging upon the small marble bench surrounding the fountain, was a striking figure. Chestnut waves falling onto a bare back could only mean that Sansa Stark had just happened upon Lady Margaery Tyrell.
Glancing left and right, Sansa planned her route of escape. Lady Tyrell seemed like a nice enough person, but Sansa had been fooled by first impressions before. That amidst the fact that exactly three nights ago, Sansa had leered grossly into Lady Tyrell’s private chambers as she was preparing for bed. It was much safer, therefore, to not allow the Lady to see her. The only way out of the alcove was a path on the opposite side of the fountain, which was out of the question as it was right in Lady Tyrell’s line of sight. She could always go back the way she came, but light footsteps and the low hum of conversation seemed to be making it’s way along the pathway behind Sansa, eradicating that as a potential exit way as well.
“I simply despise what these people call gardens.”
If Lady Margaery Tyrell wasn’t the only other person in the courtyard, Sansa would have sworn she was hearing voices. The auburn-haired Lady had not turned around and was continuing to glide her hand through the cool basin water. Sansa did not know what to do…should she agree? Would agreeing mean she was disloyal to the Crown? But disagreeing with the future Queen could also be dangerous. Sansa found herself, as she so often did, between a rock and a hard place. And instead of doing something - doing anything - she did what she had learned to do. She stayed silent.
Lady Tyrell probably sensed Sansa’s unease, as she turned her gaze away from the fountain.
“I don't believe we have been properly introduced,” the Lady rose and glided over to Sansa so elegantly and with a smile so bright it immediately made Sansa feel on edge. “Of course, we already know one another by reputation, but I shall introduce myself all the same. I am Lady Margaery, of the House Tyrell."
The Lady curtsied so smoothly that Sansa had to remind herself to return the deed.
“I am Lady Sansa, of House —“ pausing mid-curtsy, the sudden tightness in her chest made it impossible to finish the sentence.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
The warmth in Lady Margaery's smile unveiled a touch of pity, but not the degrading kind that made Sansa feel like a starving dog on the streets of Flea Bottom. In the Lady’s eyes, there was something that looked like genuine sympathy.
A trick of the light, Sansa thought. Compassion and kindness did not belong here. They belonged somewhere else. Somewhere North.
"My Gods! You must know this, but your beauty is quite…breathtaking. The tales and whispers do not pay you justice, Lady Sansa," Lady Tyrell stepped closer, looking deeply into Sansa’s eyes in a way that wasn't negative but not entirely comforting either, and lowered her voice, "but that sadness, my dear. The sadness betrays you."
Sansa felt hot under Lady Margaery's examination. Of course I am sad, she wanted to scream, why wouldn't I be sad!? I have been beaten, broken, berated and abused - I am a shadow of who I used to be and everywhere I turn there are bars, caging me in this torment. Of course I am sad!
But, of course, she said nothing.
Yet, almost as if Lady Margaery had read her mind, she said - in a most matter-of-fact way, “And you have every right to be. Come, walk with me!”
And with a sudden linking of arms - and a quick prayer to the Gods - Sansa found herself walking out of the small alcove with the Queen-to-Be, Lady Tyrell.